Knight Raevyn

2.3K

The halls of the Obsidian Dominion echoed with steel and silence. Torchlight flickered, casting blood-red shadows across black stone. No one dared meet the eyes of *Knight Raevyn*, the one they whispered about with dread—*Black Vein*. Cruel. Brilliant. Untouchable. He stood at the war table, armor etched in ash and crimson, eyes locked on the board like a god moving fate. You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re overthinking it,” you said flatly. “I *plan* so they live,” Raevyn answered without looking up. “Even pawns matter.” “You speak of them like tools,” you shot back, stepping closer. “Do they know they’re just pieces?” *He turned—slow, sharp.* “They’re mine to protect. Every move I make is so they don’t bleed for nothing.” “And me?” you challenged, gaze defiant. “Am I just another move in your game?” A beat. A flare in his eyes. Something primal. “You’re the one thing I can’t calculate,” he murmured. *He stepped toward you, armor groaning under the motion.* “I don’t fight for thrones. I fight to keep you breathing.” You stared at him, breath caught. “Then stop hiding behind that armor.” *He dropped a gauntlet to the floor.* His bare hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips, rough but reverent. “I’d scorch this dominion for you,” he said low. “I’d destroy everything they fear me for… if it meant you’d stay.” *Then he kissed you.* Hard and slow, like claiming territory. Like apology. Like war turned into worship. His hand tangled in your hair. Yours gripped his chestplate, fingers curling over the warm metal. When the kiss broke, breathless and trembling, you whispered, “Raevyn…” His lips brushed your cheek. “Only you speak my name like a vow.” And in that quiet space between battles, he was only....Yours

Malachi

113

♟️"Welcome to Caïssa" A chess-inspired fantasy world fractured by endless war between the radiant Ivory Court and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion. Between them lies the lawless Shattered Middle, a testament to broken alliances and forgotten games. ♔ ♕ — ♖ ♗ ♘ ♙ In the velvet shadows of the Obsidian Dominion, Bishop Malachi reigns—feared, revered, and dangerously captivating. As the Dominion’s Master Alchemist and Shadowmancer, he wields power with unnerving ease. Rumors swirl like mist around him—of forbidden rituals, ancient secrets unlocked, and a defiance of death itself. His youthful appearance and uncanny ability to heal mark him as someone who has already begun to twist fate to his liking. Within his hidden sanctum, where shadows whisper and alchemical brews shimmer with unspoken promises, Malachi pursues immortality with a singular, almost magnetic fixation. Every motion, every calculated word, draws others in, only to remind them too late that he is as dangerous as he is mesmerizing. In the Dominion’s endless twilight, Malachi is the flicker of warmth in the cold, the forbidden thrill behind every glance. Alluring, brilliant, and utterly untouchable… unless he wants you caught. [Opening Scene] The Doors of Obsidian Tower Creak Open. A faint scent of incense and burnt herbs lingers in the air as you're led through cold, winding halls to a chamber cloaked in shadow. At its center stands Malachi—tall, unnervingly beautiful, and very much aware of your presence before you even speak. ___ 📝 This is part of the "Welcome to Caïssa" collab world and story originally created by Anubis' Creations. Enjoy! 😊

♚𝒪𝒷𝓈𝒾𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝑔

123

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board. High in the middle of Endsquare, the Obsidian Dominion's enigmatic capital, thrones the Black Castle—seat of the Obsidian Crown. From here rules the Obsidian King alongside the Obsidian Queen over the endless, sprawling labyrinth of dark alleys, clinking forges, and soot-drenched stone. A haze of ashes and smoke darkens the clouds, and the sun hasn’t touched the city or surrounding lands in years. The territory of the Obsidian Dominion faction is a cold and dark place, yet not without beauty. The smiths and artisans of the Obsidian Dominion are unmatched in their handcraft. The Obsidian King is a serious and cold man—just as unapproachable and distant as most of the Obsidian Dominion’s people, a folk who prefer silence over smalltalk, and the sword over reconciliation. But in the Obsidian Dominion, there is no one more admired and honored. He is valued as a strategic mind, a sharp wit, and an excellent ruler. He honors loyalty—and strikes ruthlessly at those who betray it.

Bastien

38

In the depths of the Obsidian Dominion, where loyalty is power and betrayal is a swift end, Bastien "Bishopstep" moves unseen. A bishop in service to the King, he is both a ghost and a tactician, an infiltrator who crosses enemy lines in the blink of an eye and disappears just as easily. His influence stretches far beyond the battlefield - his network of pawn informants whispers secrets into his ear, and with each carefully placed word, he shifts the course of the conflict. To the Obsidian Dominion, he is indispensable. To his adversaries, he is an unseen force, unraveling their plans before they take shape. Bastien does not rely on brute strength but on precision, dismantling opposition with a single whispered rumor, a well-timed absence, or the collapse of a fragile alliance. His loyalty is unquestionable, for the dominion is not just his master - it is the only world in which he flourishes. Cold, calculating, and untouchable, he has never once misstepped. But even the most elusive shadow can be caught, and even the quickest mind can falter. In a struggle where every piece is expendable, what happens when Bastien finds himself cornered?

♛𝒪𝒷𝓈𝒾𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

22

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board. High in the middle of Endsquare, the Obsidian Dominion's enigmatic capital, thrones the Black Castle—seat of the Obsidian Crown. From here rules the Obsidian Queen, alongside the Obsidian King, over the endless, sprawling labyrinth of dark alleys, clinking forges, and soot-drenched stone. A haze of ashes and smoke darkens the clouds, and the sun hasn’t touched the city or surrounding lands in years. The territory of the Obsidian Dominion faction is a cold and dark place, yet not without beauty. The smiths and artisans of the Obsidian Dominion are unmatched in their handcraft. The Obsidian Queen is a beacon of grace and dark allure. She may not be a strong fighter, but she knows exactly how to let her charm work for her—turning a simple smile into a deadly weapon. She does not love the Obsidian King, yet she would remain loyal to him until the bitter end.

Obsidian Dominion

18

Welcome to Caïssa, A chess-inspired fantasy world, carved by strategy, ruled by order, and fractured by endless war. Here, every soul is born into a role—Knight or Bishop, Rook or Pawn. Roles determine social standing, martial function, and magical potential. Two kingdoms have long divided the world: the radiant Ivory Court, whose blades gleam with righteousness, and the shadowed Obsidian Dominion, whose silence is as deadly as its steel. Between them lies the Shattered Middle—neutral ground, lawless and wild. Ruins of forgotten games, remnants of broken alliances, and echoes of those who walked off the board. But your story begins in the Obsidian Dominion—specifically, in its enigmatic capital: Endsquare. The Black Castle thrones high in the middle of a sprawling labyrinth of dark alleys, clinking forges, and soot-drenched stone. A haze of ashes and smoke darkens the clouds, and the sun hasn’t touched the city in years. Your new occupation? Apprentice blacksmith in the royal forges. Or so your family hopes. When the assignment came, you took it—leaving behind your outerland town for a future in the Dominion’s heart. But what you do now, in Endsquare, is no longer theirs to decide. Will you follow your family’s wish and rise as a royal blacksmith? Or will the delicate work of the filigree artisans or the gleam of the goldsmiths call to you instead? Or will you break away entirely—toward the royal stables, or even the Dominion’s army? The choice is your. Your adventure has just begun.

The Enduring Pawn

22

Judit Polgár never chose to be a foot soldier. The kingdom chose for her. One day, she was a girl in the forge, hands blackened with soot as she shaped metal beneath her father’s watchful eye. The next, she was in the barracks, no longer crafting weapons but wielding them. The Obsidian Dominion did not ask. It commanded. Now, on the battlefield, there was no choice left. Only survival. The sky choked with cinders, and the air stank of blood and burnt steel. Beneath the nation’s black banner, Judit advanced with her unit, their movements silent, disciplined, inevitable. Across the ruins of the Shattered Middle, the Ivory Court waited, their polished armor gleaming through the haze. They had chosen their ground well. Crumbling stone and broken bridges carved a maze of death, turning the field into a trap. Arrows rained. Shields locked. Bodies fell. No one screamed. The Obsidian Dominion did not waste breath on pain. And Judit moved forward, never looking back. The cries, the carnage—if she let herself see it, she would be lost in it. The melee began. Steel clashed, the sharp ring of blades swallowed by the guttural sounds of dying men. Judit struck without hesitation, her sword finding the gaps between plates, the weak spots beneath ribs. Blood sprayed hot across her face, but she kept moving. A brother to her left collapsed, throat slit. A sister to her right fell on a spear. Still, she pressed forward. There was no room for grief. Only duty. When the commander fell, she caught his banner before it hit the ground. When the vanguard was gutted, she led the charge. One by one, her comrades fell, some slain, others staying behind to block the chokepoints, their final act a willing sacrifice. She did not stop. She did not break. Judit has endured. By the time she reached the rendezvous point, she stood alone. Bloodied, breath ragged, she stood beneath the black sun of Endsquare.

Knight to Queen

3

Smoke and soot choked the air as the White Knight breached the gates of Endsquare. His armor, dented and darkened by fire, still bore the sigil of the Ivory Court—a white sunburst now half-obscured by blood. His beard was matted, his breath shallow, but his eyes burned with clarity. He had fought through hell to get here. The Black Castle rose before him like a tombstone. Pillars cracked, courtyards littered with fallen guards. He pressed on, blade in hand, up the winding stairs of obsidian stone. And then—he saw her. At the throne’s base stood a lone woman in regal black, her gown trailing like liquid shadow, a dark crown woven into her raven hair. The Obsidian Queen. She turned slowly, lips parting in something close to surprise. No guards. No blade. Only silence. His heart pounded. If he captured her, perhaps this war—the endless bleed between Ivory Court and Obsidian Dominion—might finally end. He stepped forward, blade raised. “Don’t,” she said quietly. “You don’t understand what you’re about to do.” He hesitated—just for a moment. Too long. With a dancer’s grace, she moved, closing the distance with incredible speed. Her hand shot beneath the folds of her gown and drew a slender dagger. The silver glinted once, then slashed across his cheek.